


Slow Hands

by Monachopssis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Clubbing, Dirty Dancing, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Multi, Strangers to Lovers, bye, godddd it's awful, i worked a 12 hr shift and then banged this out, slow hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 05:58:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10825197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monachopssis/pseuds/Monachopssis
Summary: The one where Harry loves nothing more than being touched by a million strange hands, and Louis is all too happy to oblige.





	Slow Hands

**Author's Note:**

> I banged this out in two hours after working a twelve hour shift. It sucks and it has like.. zero editing. I haven't written smut in 20 years. Leave me alone. Also Slow Hands just made me think of a club fuck? Pleeeeease. Bye.

Harry loves clubs. He loves the anonymity of being just another writhing body; faceless and sweating. He loves the strange hands gliding over his back and hips, loves the way fingers scrabble for purchase on his slick skin before disappearing. He loves the petite girl dancing in front of him, her eyes snapping and lips smirking. She looks hungry and Harry is always eager to be consumed. He loves her possessive grip on his shoulders as she slides down his body. He loves the intimate press of her face to his hip bone; her hot breath warming his already overheated skin. He loves the sudden grab of small hands on his hips, too. He loves the body flush against his back; the lips on the side of his neck and the flat planes of a chest against his shoulder blades. 

Harry can’t spare the girl’s irritated expression a second glance because one of those small hands is under his shirt and open on his abs. He’s too busy rolling his hips back and sighing when he fits perfectly against the man behind him. The man doesn’t speak, just keeps one hand curled around his hip and the other sliding higher under his shirt; it’s better. Harry thinks maybe the club has emptied out and it’s just the two of them, music throbbing under their feet. It makes sense. 

He reaches both hands back, finding the man’s hips and then slowly rocking against him. Harry sucks his bottom lip in between his teeth, smiling, and grinds back when he hears the high and aborted noise in his ear. He moves faster in time with the song, arching his back. He loves how those small hands immediately clasp to his hips hard, and he loves the hard line that’s taken up residence between his cheeks. He whimpers, definitely too quiet to be heard in this throbbing club. But then the hands are suddenly gone, the hot pressure of the man behind him is gone as well. He has a split second to be upset before his stranger is in front of him, on him, plastered to his front _where he belongs, thank you_. Harry’s probably losing it. 

But _fuck_ if he doesn’t love the way this man’s pupils are so blown he can’t tell a color from them. Harry’s must match. Those small hands are in his hair now, tugging his head back so gently it’s almost shocking. He’s hard, they both are, but still the hands are gentle. Harry loves it. It must be written all over his face, in the firm grip of his own hands on the man’s hips. He lets go of Harry’s hair and drags his hands slowly down his back instead, grinding on Harry’s thigh. 

Harry thinks they must be on fire now, there’s no way they’re not in the middle of an inferno. He’s too hot. His blood is boiling in deep pools just under his skin. The man’s lips are scorching over any and all skin they can reach, catching the sweet and salty tang of fresh sweat on Harry’s collarbones. He feels like maybe he can’t breathe or possibly he never has before and these are his first breaths. When he feels the man’s sharp little teeth, he moans high in his throat and digs his nails into his hips. The man immediately lifts his face, taking Harry’s chin in his hand and searing their lips together.

Harry loves the clash of their teeth. He loves the tongue that sweeps into his hot mouth as they come together for kiss after kiss. He wants to be consumed by this. He stumbles forward, graceless and moaning into the man’s mouth when their hips line up. The man loses his hand in Harry’s hair again, firmer this time and guiding their kisses slower, deeper. Harry’s definitely losing it. He pulls back by an inch and the man’s hand is immediately gone from his hair, his eyes holding Harry’s steadily. There’s a bottomless well there in the man’s eyes; full with a ravenous hunger and Harry’s knees might actually buckle. The man’s smirk is just a flicker of an expression and then it’s gone.

He takes Harry’s hand and leads him from the middle of the floor, finding an empty corner and settling him in against the wall. He tilts his head to his shoulder, blue and purple and green lights flicker over him; he looks like magic. Harry wants to taste him again. The man’s hands are still on him, never really left but for that split second earlier. They’re slow, curling over his hips and hitching his shirt up again to get at Harry’s overheated skin. Harry surges forward, taking another kiss and neglecting to swallow down any of his high and keening noises. Harry’s never been quiet and the man deserves to hear them.

The man eases back but plasters himself to Harry’s front again, they stumble into the wall and slide down together. The man actually giggles. Harry loves him. The kisses come quicker but move slower now, small hands map out all they can reach. Harry catches both thumbs under the man’s chin, his longer fingers curled against either side of his neck. He tips his head back and kisses down his neck, licking sweet sweat from the man’s skin. He feels the moan against his tongue and lips and then the man is grinding down on him again. 

Harry’s been hard for a million years but the man won’t let him get a hand between them. He’s just lining their hips up and grinding down again and again. Harry’s going to come in his pants and the smirk on the man’s face says they both know it. Harry doesn’t love him. He doesn’t — _fuck_

His moaning has started people staring, some hungrily, others not so much, but Harry’s always been a bit of an exhibitionist. The man takes Harry’s hands and guides them slowly down his sides to his hips. Harry slides his hands back, fingertips falling into the crease between his cheeks and holding firm. The man buries his face in Harry’s neck and thrusts his ass out against his hands. Maybe they’re both losing it. But then the man’s sharp little teeth are on his shoulder and paired with his practiced and _bloody perfect_ grinds and Harry’s gone. He’s _gone_. A sticky mess and completely elated by it. 

Harry curls one hand further under his ass, his other hand slipping up and under the tight waistband of the man’s jeans. His fingertips just brush the cleft of his ass and the man’s hips stutter forward. Harry can’t help his pleased little smile, even when the man’s eyes snap up to his. There’s a disbelieving smirk on his face, his eyes are full of mirth. Harry loves him.

“We should take this back to my place,” Harry mumbles. He loves the way the man’s eyes flash and his smirk turns knowing. He loves that he can still feel eyes on them even if no one exists outside of the two of them.

“There’s no chance,” The man begins in the _softest_ and _raspiest_ voice Harry’s ever heard. He comes again, he thinks, just from his voice. How ridiculous. “That I’m leaving here without you on me.”

Harry flushes. It’s ridiculous, probably, that he didn’t blush through all of that until now. The man just traces slow patterns over his cheeks with feather-light fingertips.

“Louis, by the way.” The man — _Louis_ says. He shifts, a small smile that is more or less a grimace flitting across his face. Harry shifts, too. His jeans are beginning to stick to his thighs.

“Harry.” He dips forward for a kiss that’s meant to be short but ends up lingering. “You should take me home.”

Louis hums, contemplating, and leans forward for another series of kisses that keeps them on the floor and moving slowly against each other for two more club mixes. He sits back on Harry’s thighs and tilts his head again. “Wanna be all alone with me?” He teases.

“Yes.” Harry smiles, dimples and all, not adding anything else to his answer. He’s lost. Louis laughs softly, shaking his head like maybe he doesn’t quite get this either.

He does shift back though, climbing slowly to his feet and then not so subtly pulling his drying jeans away from his thighs. He helps Harry up and plasters himself to his front again, losing his hands in his hair and kissing him again. Harry definitely loves him. They nearly topple over again and that’s all that makes them pull apart, in the end. 

Louis takes his hand again and leads him along the edge of the crowd, seeming to enjoy the hands that grab him and then slide away just as much as Harry does. They come to the exit and look at each other. That’s a mistake since it leaves them wrapped around each other and sagging against the wall again. Harry’s certainly _not_ complaining when they detour into the dimly lit bathroom. 

He’s not complaining when Louis backs him up against the sink and unbuttons his jeans, pulling them and his briefs down together. He’s not complaining when Louis drops to his knees and kisses his sticky thighs. He’s not complaining when Louis fumbles around wetting down paper towels and then cleans him up. He’s not complaining when Louis’ tongue follows the paper towel.

Harry’s grip on the sink goes white-knuckled when Louis wraps his lips around the head of his cock. Louis takes him halfway down without any hesitation and then slowly licks down his length until his nose is nestled in the downy hair. He sucks him off like he’s born to it, even as his hands are still moving slowly over and between his thighs, cleaning him of his earlier mess.

He’s loud again, he can’t help it. He doesn’t _want_ to. He’s on fire again. 

The door bangs open but Harry can’t look away from the way Louis’ lashes are fanned out on his cheeks, how obscene his lips look spread around his cock. Whoever it is mutters a low curse that reaches Harry’s ears as if through a tunnel, his eyes flicker up to see another man staring unashamedly at them. Harry can’t blame him, his eyes drop back to Louis, his entire body flushing under the new stranger’s attention.

 _How_ the hell he does it is lost on Harry, but Louis actually laughs with his mouth full. That, ridiculously enough, is what sends Harry over the edge the second time. He gasps out Louis’ name, leaving him hardly enough time to pull off before he shatters. Harry sags against the wall, his legs boneless. Louis catches him and makes quick work of tucking him back into his pants and zipping him up.

“Alright, love. I think we’ve given enough of a show for tonight.” Louis murmurs when he’s off his knees again. The man is still on the far side of the bathroom, staring at them with his mouth gaping. 

Harry’s absolutely useless. “I’m absolutely useless.” He mumbles back apologetically.

Louis laughs quietly and just wraps an arm around his waist. “I’ve got you. I can get you home safe and then go, if you’d like.” He leads him back out of the bathroom, ignoring the man who’s still staring after them until the door swings shut in his face. Did that man have to piss? Because he’s probably just gone down his leg with how long he’d just stood and watched them. Harry giggles and then straightens up when he realizes what Louis’d said.

“No, no. ‘Still want you to come back to mine.”

Louis eyes him for a second, contemplating, then goes up on his toes just a bit to kiss him softly. “I’ll get you back to yours, but I’ll only stay if you’re in better shape. Rascal.”

Harry giggles and shakes his head, but goes easily into the cab that pulls up. Louis climbs in after him and accepts being laid on with so much put-on dignity that Harry spends most of the ride giggling under his breath. 

Harry _is_ in better shape when they get back to his and the night is a study in slow hands and gasping breaths and sweaty sheets.


End file.
